New and Old and What We Leave Behind

I lift up my eyes to the hills.
    From where does my help come?
My help comes from the Lord,
     who made heaven and earth. Psalm 121:1-2

Another coolish August morning.

Jack and I enjoyed ourselves.

He doing “doggie” things, and I, listening to a pod cast.

The one I listened to this morning ⇾“What Silence Can Teach You About Sound”⇽ was not my normal one.

Not even my usual TYPE of pod cast.

It was spoken by Dallas Taylor, and provided by TED Talks Daily.

If you have been with me for any length of time, you might know that I cherish quietude.

So the title caught my eye, and listening to Dallas speak, I was flooded with new ideas about what I was surrounded with.

Maybe not new ideas, but instead, old ideas that finally found their voice.


27 And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?[a] 28 And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin29 yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Matthew 6:27-29 (ESV)

I’ll share some photos from my walk, and some thoughts that came along with them.

I was encouraged to pay attention to ordinary things, in an extra ordinary way.

Here we go.

Learn from the Old

This tree.

I love this tree.

This tree; only God Himself knows how long it’s been there.

I can see it from my office window, there under the hill.

I see it every time Jack and I walk.

I can see it on my road when I’m driving home from town.

I even see it in my dreams.

I love that tree so much.

The only thought I’ve had about it is that it has always been present.

One of our neighbors though, is clearing out the valley so that he can have more land for planting.

The only thing that saves this patch of trees, is that the original owner, though getting up there in years, is still alive and well; and she loves her trees.

One day, she will be no more, and I am sure her trees will follow.

I will mourn the passing of both.

I never thought about the “why” of my love for this tree until this mornings walk.

You see, here in Iowa, this past week we had what is known as a de·re·cho.

It is defined as – a line of intense, widespread, and fast-moving windstorms and sometimes thunderstorms that moves across a great distance and is characterized by damaging winds. Some sustained winds across Iowa were clocked at 115 mph.

Needless to say there is widespread destruction, and thousands without power for cooling, food preservation, and sanitation.

With that as a back drop, I had to wonder just how many storms this old tree has weathered.

As I neared my old friend, I saw that some of his pieces had fallen during the storm.

Bits and pieces of days gone by.

I also noted that there is much left to him, and he is still quite beautiful, in spite his losses.

Watch your step.

Upon my return back up the hill, my eye was drawn to this;

One lone flower.

Be strong. Hold on.

It had weathered the storm.

A message of hope.

Life goes on.

A light, shining after the storm.

There is still hope.

So I ask you.

Have you been in a storm?

Have you been embattled on every side?

Does COVID, quarantine, irrational happenings in our world, and such have you feeling like the last one?

You may even be the last one, but in a different season, life will be restored.

Guess what?

You are still beautiful, whether you have all the pieces you came into this world with or not.

So you get to decide.

What will you leave behind?

Will your parts end up in a stack somewhere where no one will understand all you have endured, or will you you shine out, like hope in a dark time?

I encourage you.

Pick up your pieces.

Share them out.

Tell your story.

Let someone, somewhere know of it’s importance.

When you’re done, be that light that shines out hope –

Hope for a new reason, a new season, a new time.

All because of a four and a half minute silent space inside a TED Talk.

Who knew?

Until next time …

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